Torn
by stitchcrazy68
Summary: Tragedy introduces a new immortal in both Duncan's and Methos' life. Both friends are drawn to her for different reasons.
1. Chapter 1

DISCLAIMER: I do not have any association with the wonderful show, of time past, Highlander the series. I have an undying fascination of the characters Duncan and Methos. I hope I can keep these two in the style that we all love.

Story description: Duncan and Kate were happy in New York, rediscovering one another. Then tragedy strikes and the appearance of a new immortal will test the long time friendship of Duncan and Methos. Rated PG-13

Chapter 1

The early hours of evening were accompanied with a soft drizzle of rain. New Yorkers went about their timely routines of fighting rush hour traffic, both on the streets as well as on the sidewalks. This evening was no different from any other for Kate. She was on her way home to the man she loved.

She reached for her classic black umbrella as she wished her assistant, Julie, a pleasant evening. She passed through the small white lobby of her photography studio and placed her hand on the doorknob. Kate paused to answer the small cellular phone that had begun to ring in her coat pocket.

"Hi Duncan. I'm at the front door now. Sure, I'll pick up the wine and be home shortly. I love you, too. I will." With a final wave to Julie, Kate blended into the fast paced crowd outside.

The crowd thinned slightly after three blocks and the rain quickly became a cloudy mist. Headlights from the slow passing cars cast butter colored hues along the asphalt. There was only one more block to go and she would have a nice bottle of Merlot under her arm. She only lived a block and a half from the little health food market where she purchased a lot of the spur of the moment items. She could then enter the contemporary styled high-rise building that she shares with her husband, Duncan MacLeod.

At the last intersection crosswalk, Kate stood among other busy people, making their way home or to business meetings. She felt the presence before she saw the other immortal. Kate looked at the faces around her. Most were staring at the traffic lights and a few where talking on mobile phones while trying to stay dry under their umbrellas. Kate didn't see a danger and she didn't see anyone else searching the crowd for her. "It could have been someone from a passing car," she thought to herself. Taking a deep breath, she let it out in a slow stream and tried to calm herself.

The lights changed and the pedestrians began moving across the road, to the other side. The tingling vibration became more intense and Kate fixed her eyes on a young woman ahead of her. The woman showed no indication of recognizing an immortal. To the woman, Kate was just another stranger who occupied the busy street. To Kate, this lovely woman had not yet lost the ability to grow old. For a brief moment Kate experienced a twinge of envy.

For decades Kate fought the heart wrenching emotion of not being like others around her. She watched as little by little the models around her developed "laugh lines" and "crows feet" designs around their eyes. Some began to color their hair to cover gray streaks, instead of just for fun to match the changing times and fashions.

She believed that it would be utterly romantic to gray and wrinkle with Duncan, as time went by. Duncan has made her happy and very wanted over the past year. "Be thankful you aren't walking through this century alone, Katie," She thought to herself again, using Duncan's favorite name for her.

Deafening screams broke through Kate's reverie and her hand went to the hilt of the sword, hidden beneath her ankle length coat. She turned in time to see a motorcycle careening out of control and spinning in her direction. Dropping the bottle of wine, she grabbed the person next to her and jumped backwards.

An oncoming car clipped the front of the motorcycle, flipping it through the air. Kate watched in horror as the bike landed on top of the woman she had pulled to misguided safety. The motorcycle and the woman were projected 15 yards away. Kate ran to the broken body and felt for a pulse, but couldn't find one.

The air around Kate seemed to become suffocating. A man was yelling for someone to call 911, the world was moving in slow motion, and once again the rain began to fall. Kate knew that it would be impossible to explain that the woman would be fine and able to walk away from this accident. Kate stayed close to the dead woman and was planning on how she'd take the woman home. Duncan and Kate would have to explain to her how her life had just changed forever.

Kate briefly glanced around and saw a small crowd forming a semi-circle facing the driver of the motorcycle. He seemed to be alive. The motorcycle was lying at the side of the busy road with its front wheel spinning.

Kate turned back to the lifeless form before her. Kate found a small wallet in the woman's jacket pocket. Her name was Emily Johnson. The group of people surrounding them were pushing closer. One person asked, "Is…is she dead?"

Kate replaced the wallet in Emily's jacket and said, "No, she's alive. Move back, please."

Emily's left hand began to twitch and her chest rose with a sharp intake of oxygen. A strangled sound came from her throat as her eyes fluttered open. Her hand immediately touched her left temple and Kate knew that Emily was feeling the intense alertness of an immortal.

Kate placed her hand on Emily's shoulder and leaned closer, "It's alright. Don't be scared." Kate knew that it was useless to try to comfort Emily, for it would take weeks to grasp the situation that she was now in. Emily was close to hysteria and Kate needed to get her out of the public view.

Kate heard police and E.M.U. sirens just a few blocks away. She glanced down the street and wondered if she could reach her doorstep, with Emily in tow, before the authorities arrived.

Kate reached to pull Emily to her feet when two out of control cars ran over the mangled motorcycle once more. The second car's front fender tore the motorcycle's windshield free and propelled it at high speed.

Kate raised her eyes in time to see something shiny and wet flying toward her. She didn't feel the cold fiberglass as it sliced through skin, sinew, and bone. The last image the nerve ending in her brain fired off was of Duncan. Kate's face held a look of peace and a small smile on her lips as her quickening was released.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I do not own any part of Highlander the series, the characters, or royalties. This is only a part of my imagination and I get nothing but joy from writing fiction to go with my favorite show. Any added characters are my own delusions J.

Dusk was falling but the cloudy sky and drizzling rain made it difficult to tell what time it was.

"God, I hate rain," mumbled the young man. He had only been standing there for a short while, but his hair was plastered to his head and his thin jacket was very damp.

A shiver caused him to tremble slightly as he ducked his neck further down into the collar of his windbreaker. He sighed, thinking to himself, "It's a good thing my pay checks are large. I'm gonna need to pay for my funeral after I catch pneumonia and die. It's been raining for three days and it's getting cold."

To pass the next five minutes, he thought about the day he had joined the 'Watchers'. His uncle had recruited him by saying that the salary was good and that he'd be able to travel to exotic places from time to time. The only criterion was to be as sneaky as a mouse and as invisible as a dust mite.

He'd only been out of the 'Watchers' training program for three months when Joe Dawson, currently the head of the 'Watchers', assigned him to follow and record all information on Kate MacLeod. It was an honor and he intended to make Dawson and his uncle proud of his in depth notes and records.

A crisp, metallic jingle from the copper bell above the door alerted the man standing in the shadows. He stood taller as he looked around the adjacent corner, toward the front door of the photography studio. He slowly walked along the crowded sidewalk, keeping the brunette in his sight. The pedestrians kept a steady cadence as the flow of traffic hurried through intersections.

He saw her turn into a health food store and slowly search the isles. He continued to pass the store and then waited inside a neighboring shop. Moments later she passed him and he dodged the sharp points of an umbrella. He kept his eyes on her bright blue scarf that was wrapped around her beautiful, flowing chestnut hair.

Drawing close to the last intersection, he could almost feel the day warmth seeping through his shoes and up his calves when he leaves Kate at her front door and slips into the nearest pub for beer. The day's watching would be over for him when Kate makes it home without incident. He wouldn't have to worry about following her around again until she leaves for work in the morning.

He watched the brightly lightened crosswalk signs as water droplets formed on his long, blond bangs. Cacophonous screams began to fill the air and brought that man to full attention. He frantically looked around, expecting to see someone brandishing a sword. He couldn't see Kate through the frantic crowd that was pushing and shoving.

At that moment everything seemed to pass in slow motion. Up ahead, cars seemed to be careening out of control. Sounds of steel meeting steel and glass shattering was ricocheting throughout the street. Fearful cries, from the busy New Yorkers, hovered in the air as chaos began to rise. Everyone seemed to be trying to look at a horrible scene and trying to get out of the way at the same time.

The watcher scanned the area, looking for Kate. "_Oh God, I can't lose her now. If she's fighting someone, I need to be a witness_." He elbowed his way through the crazy crowd and managed to keep from knocking anyone over. He made it to the road and saw two mangled cars off to his left. Feeling a little tense, he looked up and down the street before he noticed Kate. She was standing next to a still body that was laying half in a muddy puddle. He froze. "_Did she kill someone in front of a whole street of people?"_

He ducked back into the crowd, but slowly pushed his way closer so he could observe Kate examine the woman at her feet. Kate glanced around nervously and he saw something strange in her eyes.

The night sky started to get a little darker and the street lamps were beginning to glow. The mist turned once more into a heavy sprinkle. The woman lying on the wet asphalt began to shudder and violently inhaling for needed oxygen.

The watcher thought that he could hear whimpering coming from her open mouth, but he couldn't be sure because of all the noise.

A flash of bright lights reflected off Kat's shiny, black leather coat. The watcher turned and caught sight of a motorcycle being ripped apart from the force of two additional cars colliding. Before anything could register in his brain, he was memorizing Kate's headless body standing before him. He felt his blood turn as cold as the rain and his heart constrict painfully. Blinking his widened eyes, he stared open mouthed as Kate's body crumpled to the sidewalk.

A swirling mist began to flow around Kate's fallen body. The witnesses around the watcher gasped and started backing away from the street curb. The injured woman at Kate's feet let out a shrill cry and scooted backwards away from the headless body.

The watcher seemed to realize what was happening as electrical flashes began to emerge from Kate's shoulders. _"No. Oh no…"_ was all that he could manage to say. He turned and shouted at the top of his voice, "Everybody run! There's an electrical cable hanging in the street!" He managed to spread enough panic to clear the immediate street. A man running past shouted, "It's an electrical storm. Get out of the way, lightening could strike any minute!"

He ran into the nearest building as he reached inside his jacket for his cell phone. He could see the full rage of Kate's quickening as it danced all around the now still automobile traffic and emptying streets. The woman, who had been near Kate, got to her feet and was running in the opposite direction when two silver charges from the quickening pierced through her. She stumbled and fell to her knees as the bolts continued to surge into her quaking body.

A voice crackled from the earpiece of the watchers phone, "Yes?"

"It's Connelly. This is serious, let me talk to Dawson," he said with forced authority.

Before Steve Connelly had the chance to take a deep breath, the raspy voice of Joe Dawson commanded, "Connelly, what'd you screw up?"

In a clear, but rushed voice, Connelly replied, "There's been a freak accident. Some cars collided with a motorcycle and Kate MacLeod was killed."

Silence greeted Connelly's ear. He watched as Kate's final life energy caressed the woman who was now on both of her hands and knees.

Dawson cleared his throat and asked, "Were there witnesses? They'll be leaving NY and she'll change her identity. Too many people know who she is. Okay, submit your report."

Connelly was watching the "new" immortal from the open doorway. Her form resembled that of a person in a Yoga class performing the "Downward Dog" pose.

"Dawson, a part of the motorcycle severed her head. Not only that, her quickening was absorbed by a woman that was killed minutes earlier."

Joe Dawson sighed and with a strangled tone he replied, "Follow the other woman. We need to know who she is."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Joe Dawson wiped at the tear that traced a glistening line down his left cheekbone. The dread of what he had to do was overwhelming. He was a 'Watcher' and he was not supposed to get involved with any immortal. He'd made two exceptions, Duncan MacLeod and the oldest living immortal know as Methos. Joe felt very proud to consider those two men his friends. It was very hard not to get personally involved when they were so likable.

He wanted to be the person to give Duncan the tragic news about Kate. Duncan was a comfort when Joe had lost someone close and Joe wanted to be at hand for Duncan.

Inside his hotel suite, Joe reached for the phone and dialed a number in England. The phone line on the other end sounded out a series of taps and then an answering machine picked up.

An English accent flowed through the fiber optic line, _"You've reached the 'Unofficial' Queen Fan Club. If you'd like to become a member, you must submit a resume and enclose 1,000 American dollars. If I like you I'll call you back."_

A short, high-pitched tone alerted Joe that the inane message had finished and he left a short and precise message. "It's Joe. You're needed in New York, Kate's been killed. I'm going to MacLeod's, he should hear it from me. I can tell you more if you call me on my mobile."

Joe replaced the receiver in its cradle and walked out of the room. Joe felt a hollow dread, deep in his soul. It was going to be a long, painful night.

_"Breath. I can't breath. Oh, God, what's wrong with me"_ Emily tried to open her eyes and move her head. Every nerve ending in her body was screaming and passing excruciating pain signals to her brain. _"I was hit. Something hit me and now I'm going to die."_

There was an uncomfortable ringing sound in her ears and vibrations that felt like cold fingers massaging her sinus cavities.

The diaphragm in her chest cavity suddenly contracted and her lungs expanded, filling her body with much needed oxygen. The pressure was almost too much to tolerate. Emily tried to lift upward but could only manage to move her left arm.

She opened her eyes and fought to focus. It was as if someone had filled her eyes with Vaseline. A blurry figure stood at her side and then spoke with a soothing female voice. Emily couldn't understand the words due to the aching in her temples. She rubbed at her eyes with determination. She was suddenly looking into two large, dark brown eyes.

A calm feeling swept over Emily and she allowed those warm eyes to reassure her that she was going to be all right. Emily thought to herself as she studied the tall, thin woman, _"I probably just fell when someone pushed me. I could have hit my head and blacked out."_

There was a loud commotion from a distance behind them and Emily watched as the woman reached to help her up. One moment Emily was looking into the kind woman's face and then there was nothing but shoulders, a torso, and a pair of legs.

Emily choked on a scream and summoned all the energy she had in her body, to back away from the ghastly scene that was before her. Emily's savior was dead and she frantically tried to erase the image from her mind. She saw twirling mists and felt uncontrollable vibrations sweeping through her body. Her feet began to tingle, followed by her legs, as if circulation of warm blood had been returned to cold limbs.

Sparks began to fly from somewhere in front of Emily. Terrified, she continued to pull herself along with her arms and scooted with her feet. Emily managed to flip herself over onto her stomach when the mind-boggling vibrations washed throughout her body. Managing to get to her hands and knees, Emily crawled a few feet before severe pain rippled her entire life form.

Emily's screams were muffled under the sound of explosions along the street. The only thought that arose was that she was being electrocuted. She believed that her day had been numbered.

Visions danced through her mind's eye. There were thoughts and images that made no sense to her. Faces and names that didn't seem rational. _"Is this dying? Does everyone see these things?"_

As fast as the electrifying storm began, it abruptly ended. Emily was face down on the dirty street, breathing heavily, and softly crying.

People filled the streets and hesitantly approached Emily. Feeling as if she needed to escape immediately, she struggled to her feet and staggered in the opposite direction of the stunned crowd.

Five blocks from the accident, Emily found herself at the entrance of her residing apartment building. Once inside the small, dark lobby, she leaned against the elevator doorframe. She pressed her forehead to the cool metal doors and waited for them to open.

Every muscle, nerve, and fiber ached extensively, to the point of being unbearable. Emily tried blocking out the foreign images that bombarded her, but it only made her more nauseous.

The elevator doors opened and she stumbled forward, eyes closed, and grabbed onto the waist high handrail for support. Without looking, she jabbed a finger at the number 3 button on the selector keypad. She was completely unaware that a man had followed her into the elevator. He stood still and very silent in the opposite corner to watch.

Emily swayed slightly when the elevator lurched to move upward. Keeping her eyes closed, she listened to the soft ping as the elevator passed the second floor and stopped on the third.

She left the elevator, leaning her way against the wall, and slowly made her way to her door. She arrived by habit only.

Reaching into the front pocket of her beige _Dockers_, Emily pulled out her small key ring, opened the door, and walked through the archway. Once inside, she locked and dead bolted the door. The image that she concentrated on was that of her queen size bed. She was so tired and she hurt all over. Shedding her wet clothes as she made her way to the bedroom, sleep was all she wanted. She climbed under the fresh linens and buried her head in the soft down feather pillow. She didn't care that her clean sheets had gotten soiled. She prayed for a dreamless sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

The night's sky turned the color of pitch, as dark clouds blanketed any visible stars. Rain fell in a violent flow. It seemed to Joe Dawson that the weather matched the terrible event that occurred half an hour earlier. He had to leave the shelter of a taxi to reach his destination. The police had blocked off traffic and they were taking statements from witnesses. The injured and dead were removed by ambulance and hurried to the closest hospital.

Joe briskly shuffled along the last block to MacLeod's residence. His prosthetic leg had prevented him from arriving sooner. He only hoped that he could reach MacLeod before the police did. It's always hard to hear things like this from a stranger. A friend can be more sympathetic and actually mean it.

The residential building sold whole floors to those who liked to have a 3000 square feet space to live. It was the size of a nice home in the down town area of the city. Joe pushed the button for the sixth floor and tried to think of how he was going to break the news.

Joe stepped out of the over sized elevator and immediately smelled the tomato based sauce that permeated the hallway. Glancing at his watch, Joe saw that it was dinnertime. His legs felt rubbery and he compulsively ran his left hand through his salt and pepper colored hair. He reached forward with a finger and pressed the doorbell. Soft jazz was audible through the massive Oak door. The sound of footsteps stopped on the other side of the door.

Duncan MacLeod stood at the door, wiping his hands on a dish towel. A small smile played at the corner of his mouth. "Hey, Joe. What're you doing here?" Duncan stepped back from the door to allow Joe to enter.

The atmosphere was warm and the music playing on a stereo, in the corner, was soothing. Joe slowly looked around the large open room and found the easy mixture of masculine and feminine touches. It was a cozy looking home and very contemporary. He fixed his eyes on Duncan. Duncan's right brow dipped slightly and moved toward the kitchen.

"Would you like a drink? You look like you can use one." Duncan walked around the island in the center of the white colored kitchen. He lifted the lid off a stainless steel stockpot and blistering steam billowed up to the ceiling. "Kate's due any minute, but you're welcome to stay for dinner." Duncan stirred something in the pot and nodded his head in satisfaction. Placing the lid on the counter top, Duncan prepared to lift and drain the pot. He saw Joe's face and stopped in midair.

"What's wrong, Joe?"

Joe cleared his throat and began, "MacLeod, I don't know how to make this easy. Please understand how sorry I am. Kate isn't coming home." Joe's eyes began to tear and his voice gave out. He placed his hands on his face to stifle a sob.

"What happened?" Duncan asked, his voice going two octaves lower. He took a deep breath and held it. He knew he needed to prepare himself for something terrible. "_Not Kate, not now. She just came back to me."_ Fear turned his blood icy and his hands clenched.

Joe knew by the look on Duncan's face, what he was thinking. "She didn't die by the hands of an immortal. There was a four car pile-up and the windshield of a motorcycle was flying debris." He griped the handle of his cane tightly and leaned for support. "Duncan, anything I can do or anything you need, I'm here."

Duncan left the kitchen and walked to an off-white leather sofa. He heavily sat in the center and buried his face in his hands. His shoulders gently shook with deep sobs that he didn't hold back.

Joe shuffled over to the small liquor bar and poured double shots of vodka for both of them.

Joe's taxi turned off _White Street_ and headed to the Tribeca Grand Hotel on 6th Avenue. He was headed to the hotel bar called _Church Lounge_. Once on the curb, he paid the driver and went into the hotel. He walked through the lobby and down a curved stone ramp that lead into a spacious lounge. It flowed like a babbling brook, to either side of a rectangular shaped bar. The chambers of the lounge were off to the left. Joe could see a violet skylight, and the eight floors of the hotel, to his right.

Joe stepped into the lounge and glanced around. The lunchtime rush was well over and the activity inside was at a minimum. He spied the tall, lean man sitting in a darkened corner. Joe could see from the fifty yards distance that the young looking man was in a peculiar mood. Joe moved awkwardly toward the table and motioned to a passing waitress. "Two light beers, please, on tap" He said with a warm smile.

Joe neared the table and reached out to shake hands with his friend.

"Adam, it's good to see you again."

Adam smiled. He still found it amusing that his close friends remembered to call him Adam and not by his birth name, Methos. He only had two close friends and they knew the risks of exposing his true identity. He sat up straighter with his back against the wall while his legs were extended lengthwise with the bench seat.

"How's MacLeod?" Methos asked with genuine concern.

"Trying to deal with this. He told me that he doesn't have anyone to hate for taking her life." Joe cleared his throat, "He's blaming himself a little. Says he asked her to buy some wine on the way home. He figures she'd have made it safely if she hadn't stopped. I think it's close to how he felt when Richie died."

Methos lowered his eyes and studied his hands. "I don't know that I can be of much help to him. He knows how to deal with loss, Joe."

Joe leaned closer to the table and reached into his suit pocket. He pulled out a piece of paper and looked into Methos' dark eyes saying, "This is a little different, isn't it?"

Methos sighed and tilted his head to the side, "Not really. Maybe it'll be easier. There isn't anyone he can hate or go after for revenge."

Joe sat back as a waitress brought two beers and placed each in front of the two men. She smiled at Joe and gave a small wink as she headed back to the bar.

Joe stared at the heady foam floating at the rim of his mug.

Methos took a large gulp of his beer and made a face of distaste. "I've never been able to get used to American beer. It almost tastes like piss."

Joe quirked one side of his mouth, "Tasted piss, have you?" he asked sarcastically.

"Joe, you would be appalled at some of the things I've had to eat and drink over the years," Methos smiled and then looked Joe in the eyes. "Joe, don't go there. I'm not a mentor, not any more, and not ever."

Joe leaned closer once again, "MacLeod can't teach the woman right now; he's not himself." Joe hid his eyes from Methos, afraid that something would be obvious in them.

Methos sat up straighter on his side of the booth. "I may hide my ago well, but I wasn't born thirty years ago. You're hiding something, what is it?"

Joe sighed and looked into his beer, "She's only been immortal for 27 hours. She was there when Kate was killed, she received the quickening." Joe slowly looked up to see Methos' reaction.

Disbelief immediately flushed the immortal and he stared at Dawson. "My God! You expect me to come into this and…ha…ha…no, no, and no. Duncan would kill me for sure. You've got to tell him, Joe. If you don't, I will."

Joe looked stricken and desperate. "MacLeod can't do this right now. It could be devastating to the woman as well. She doesn't know what the hell happened to her. She wouldn't be able to handle Kate's quickening, in Mac's presence. Do you know how he'd handle it? Maybe if you just took her somewhere for a month to get her used to this…"

Methos scowled at Joe and demanded, "And then what? Just show up one day and say, 'Hi, how ya doin'? and 'oh, yeah, this is the woman who got Kate's quickening'. Don't cheat him out of a chance to say goodbye to his wife, Joe. Don't put me in the middle. I like MacLeod. I want to stay on his good side."

Joe slid the piece of paper toward Methos and nodded his head in agreement, "Maybe you're right, but please, go see her first."

Joe watched as Methos stood to leave, "Oh, I reassigned the 'Watcher' that was following her. I'll wait until your training is over before I assign someone else."

Methos nodded and walked toward the exit. He hailed a taxi and called out the address, on the slip of paper, to the driver.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Unwelcome light flooded the small bedroom. Through the night and throughout the mid-morning, Emily tried to hide beneath her pillow. She tried to block out the sounds of life going on outside her window and the neighboring apartments.

Canine barking from the apartment next door continually brought reminders of the horrible night Emily went through. Her sleep was assaulted by dreams of both peace and violence. She felt that each dream centered on nightmarish Halloweens. The images and voices had been so realistic, that she swore she had been there. Everything continued to change. The places, the faces, the locations, and the costumes were a jumbled mess.

One dream left an ache in her heart. It was an ache of longing, hope, and excitement. One moment she was getting married, dancing in the arms of a large, beautifully barbaric man. Then she was walking dark, dirty streets with torn clothing and no shoes. She was alone, hungry, and selling her body to survive. All she was feeling in these dreams was raw and bleeding hatred.

Tears ran from the corners of her eyes as she tried to remember the dark haired man with the deep brown, seductive eyes. His voice was like liquid silk that had washed her dream like musky incense. Emily had never seen or heard a man of his like before.

Rolling onto her back, Emily pulled the pillow over her eyes and tried to find rest.

A knock on her door forced Emily to open her eyes. Wanting to ignore it, she hoped the annoyance would disappear.

The knocking grew louder and more persistent. Emily through back the bed covers and weakly stumbled out of bed. The closer she got to the door, she felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. Her head began to buzz and her ears started ringing. A tingling sensation worked up her spine and the hairs on her neck rose.

Placing her left hand on the door jam, she rested her forehead against the door. Not wanting to open her eyes and not caring to look through the door's peephole, she roughly called out, "Who is it?"

A man's voice answered causally yet in a firm tone. His accent was smooth and European. Emily was puzzled. She gazed out the peephole and studied the stranger. He was tall, thin, and possibly her age. His hair was short and he wore a navy blue NIKE baseball cap. "_He looks harmless, but this is New York City_," she thought. She wasn't a fool.

"What do you want?" Emily demanded through the wooden door.

"Emily, my name is Adam Pierson. I'd like to talk with you about what happened last night."

Emily began to panic. _"Perfect, a reporter. How the hell did he find me?"_ She yelled through the door, "Go away! I don't know what you're talking about. Nothing happened…"

The man wasn't accepting any denial. "Emily, I know what happened to you and I know what you're going through. You need some answers and I happen to have them."

Emily's heart skipped a beat and she realized that she's been holding her breath. She stared at the young man, on the other side of the door, trying to decide what to do.

"Go away or I'll call the cops," she half-heartedly choked. She continued to watch him to see what he would do.

The tingling sensation hadn't subsided and goose bumps had covered her arms and legs.

The man, who called himself Adam Pierson, leaned his back against the wall across from Emily's apartment door. He shoved both of his hands in the front pockets of his faded jeans. Emily watched as he brought his right knee up at a forty-five degree angle and placed the bottom of his right foot against the wall. He looked as if he planned to stay that way until she acknowledged him.

With his back against the wall, Methos looked up at the ceiling and began counting the dead bugs collecting inside the track lighting case.

He knew that Emily was watching him from behind her closed door. He tried to seem as non-threatening as possible. "_Women are much more cautious these days and always suspicious._"

After counting bug number 47, he heard the dead bolt slide in its track and he saw the door slowly open. Emily opened the door until the gold plated chain lock became taught.

Methos could see her right foot braced against the bottom corner of the open door. She wasn't going to accept him as a passive person just yet. He smiled warmly and turned his ball cap backwards so there were no shadows on his face and nothing hidden behind his eyes. He held both arms out parallel to the floor to show that he held no items.

She closed the door enough to unlatch the lock, and then opened it wider for a better look.

Methos didn't make a move. He let her decide what to do. There was something special about this woman. He could tell that she was strong and brave, but he sensed a very vulnerable side as well.

Emily cleared her throat and asked, "How did you find me? What do you know about last night?"

Methos lowered his arms, looking up and down the hallway. "What I have to tell you is something you don't want your neighbors to hear. May I come in?"

Emily narrowed her eyes. She believed him, he wasn't a threat. She was curious enough to spare him a few moments of explanation. In a warning tone she replied, "I know Karate, so don't try anything."

Methos laughed lightly and agreed. Emily stepped aside and allowed him to enter. She watched him closely as she closed the door. She wasn't certain, but she thought the vibrating sensations increased as he drew nearer and then passed her.

The man's back was to her as he casually glanced around the meager apartment.

She took in his appearance and realized that he was thinner than she realized. His oversized sweatshirt hung from broad shoulders and hid a tapered waist.

"Mr. Pierson, you said that you have something to tell me. I'd like to hear what you have to say and then I'd like for you to leave." Emily could only think of returning to bed. She was fortunate to have the day off from work.

Methos turned to Emily and studied her intently. She was strong minded and determined, that much he could see. She held her head proudly and had a spark of defiance in her eyes. Methos smiled and suggested, "Perhaps we should sit down. This is not a five minute explanation."

Emily sighed and walked to her tiny kitchen to put on some water for strong coffee. She gestured toward the small table where two chairs leaned, "Please, sit. I can't see what is so significant. I was struck by lightning…I lived. What more can you say?"

Methos sat and watched her. When she was seated across from him, with two cups of coffee, he began to speak. He started with a story about the birth of a man called, Methuselah.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Again, this is a fiction from my feeble mind. I don't own any rights to this magnificent show or the movies. I do not own the rights to (and I am not stealing) the song lyrics listed in this chapter. The song fits nicely with the way Duncan's feeling about the loss of his wife, Kate.

The song is from the anime **_Cowboy Bebop; _**it's called "Is It Real?" by the Seatbelts.

Joe Dawson sipped the last of his scotch. He looked into the short square glass and tried to think of the right words to say. _Maybe there isn't anything to say_. _Nothing truly helps at a time like this_. He looked around the darkened room. There was only one lamp that was lit throwing long shadows across the opposite wall. Joe had turned on the tall _Ambrosia_ to avoid tripping over the collection of antique trunks that Kate loved. They were strategically arranged around the room to allow a positive flow and exciting atmosphere. These weren't Kate's "hope" chests. "Hope" chests hold all the dear things of what will come. These are Kate's "essence" chests. The chests held all the precious things from her past lives.

Duncan MacLeod sat in an overstuffed, black leather easy chair. He stared at a wooden plank in the floorboard. _Is that the one that always creaked when Kate walked through the room? _He asked himself. He didn't notice when Joe stood and carried his empty glass to the kitchen sink. He was mentally going over the last full conversation that he had shared with Kate. She had wanted to spend a weekend in Vermont at a cozy bed and breakfast. Shopping for antiques was her goal.

Duncan had laughed as he pulled her into his arms. "Sweetheart, you and I have _REAL_ antiques in storage. Between the two of us, we could open a store of our own. Why not use our things for your photo shoot?"

Kate had kissed him lightly on the nose and said, "Duncan, my love, I want the lay-out to look pretty, not just Medieval. There _is_ such a thing as too antique."

Duncan looked up as Joe approached him.

"Mac, I took care of everything. The funeral is the day after tomorrow. I put her personal effects on the table." Joe leaned down and grasped Duncan's right shoulder. "Call me if you need anything," was all he could manage to say and then he started for the door.

"Joe," Duncan called out. "Thank you, for everything."

Joe looked back at Duncan and tried to smile. "I talked to Methos, he's coming to see you." Joe gave a final wave and then left.

Duncan closed his eyes and listened to the door close behind Joe. The click of the door latch sounded like a Revolutionary War canon. He reached for a half full bottle of whiskey. Closing his eyes, he held his breath as the warm liquid burned its way to his empty stomach. Before long, he would be able to slip into a sea of black nothingness.

**Figurines that fall like leaves then disappear; keep calling,**

**"****_Is it real? Is it real?_****"**

**Dark machines that wheeze and breathe then mock the air; appalling**

**"****_What is real? What is real?_****"**

**This world can really be too much,**

**I can't take another day.**

**I guess that I've just had enough,**

**My mind's slipping far away.**

**I'm falling in and out of touch**

**Could someone please explain?**

Duncan wanted out of the apartment. He wanted to get away from the sights and smells of Kate. The house smelled of her even hours after she would leave for the Studio. Her perfume lingered in the air, in the fibers of their bed linens, and in the wardrobe where her clothes hung.

The color coordination in the kitchen and in the bathroom screamed, "A woman lives here!"

In their bedroom, Duncan lifted Kate's silver, marble handled hairbrush from her vanity table. She had purchased it from a quaint little shop in Venice the past spring. The bristles were opaque and soft. He moved his thumb across the velvety tips and pulled out long strands of shiny brown hair. His eyes began to tear as he rolled Kate's hair between his thumb and first finger. He stared at them as thoughts rushed in to haunt him.

Kate had been sitting at her vanity, watching Duncan through the large mirror. He stood behind her and was brushing her hair. The short style had grown out and hung down on her shoulders. Her dark brown eyes stared up as if daring him to undress her. She had parted her full, moist lips, closed her eyes, and sighed. That was all the Duncan had needed to push him over the edge of restraint. It had been on of those unforgettable nights to remember for all life long.

Coming out of the painfully sweet reverie, Duncan replaced the brush on the silver Victorian tray, next to the matching hand mirror.

Tears streaked his tanned cheeks and he felt trapped.

Taking his house keys from the kitchen counter, he left the apartment to clear his head. A long walk was what he needed.

**Set my mind for open sky, but couldn't fly, so sadly**

**"****_What am I? What am I?_****"**

**Sullen eyes shed teardrop lies then criticize, now laughing**

**"****_What is real? What is real?_****"**

**It's really all become too much,**

**I'm not sure what I should feel.**

**I guess I've finally had enough,**

**I don't know if this is real.**

**I'm crashing in and out of touch**

**Can anyone please explain?**


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

Emily's small apartment seemed to close in on her. As she sat at her small round kitchen table, fingers clenched tightly around the empty coffee cup, her head began to ache severely. Her stomach knots became tighter and she wanted nothing more than to hang her head to discharge the coffee she had consumed. She stared, across the table, at the now quiet man. The brightness of his white sweatshirt threatened to burn her retinas and sizzle her brain cells. It was a miracle that the nerve tingling vibrations had subsided sometime during Mr. Pierson's story. What a story it turned out to be. Emily closed her eyes and placed her forehead on the cheap Formica tabletop. The cool surface allowed a quarter-sized diameter of relief to which Emily tried to focus on. If only she could will the table to open up and swallow the throbbing pressure that her nerve endings were emitting. _"I'd like the strange guy across from me to disappear as well," _she thought with sarcasm.

"I can help rid you of the headache if you'd like," Methos volunteered soothingly. He had recognized the moment pain invaded her temples. It crept into her facial expressions as soon as his tale began to reveal himself as an immortal. Emily had become impatient and the look of worry washed over her face. Her sudden doubt had been coming to the conclusion, at a rather fast pace, that he was most likely a nut case. If he had been in her shoes he would have been racing for a butcher knife to wield as a weapon.

Emily managed to roll her head and rest her left cheek on the table's space between her hands.

"Look, I'm not feeling well and I'd like you to leave now. Hell, we're in New York. You need to take your story to a producer, not bring it to me. It would make a great movie." Her face turned an ashen color and her stomach lurched to her throat.

Two seconds before Emily's facial color change, he watched her eyes widen and become unfocused. He reached across the table and heaved her up by the underarms. Guessing that the only other open door, that wasn't her bedroom, would have to be the bathroom.

Methos casually leaned his left hip against the porcelain sink as he studied Emily. She sat Indian style before the elongated, sparkling white toilet bowl. Her arms rested on each side of the bowl and her head hung dangerously low toward the blue water. Methos was amazed that Emily still felt weakened after effects of the quickening. He was aware that each immortal received a quickening's result differently, but he had never heard of one causing discomfort for 14 hours. To him, it was curious that that she wasn't bursting with enough energy to run, and win, a marathon.

Emily leaned forward, retched and relieved her stomach of any remaining liquid.

Methos collected a fluffy, blue washcloth from the towel rack beside him. Wetting it slightly, he held it, eye level, to her once she sat back on her heels. Her head tilted back and her face was lifted to the florescent lights above her. She closed her eyes and parted her lips slightly to release a faint sigh.

Methos, still holding the damp cloth only inches from her face, cleared his throat and spoke with a teasing undertone, "You…ah…have a little on your face…there…"

Emily opened her eyes and glared at the intrusive stranger. The laughter she saw in Mr. Pierson's eyes was irritating enough to make her scream. If her eyes could do actual damage, the tall man standing beside her would have a face full of darts at that very moment.

"Are you still here?" she asked with less force and conviction than she'd hoped. She accepted the cool washcloth and held it to her face. A moan passed her lips and the tenseness in her shoulders melted. She gave way to the cool pleasure that soothed the heated blood in her face. She could almost feel as if she were alone…almost.

Methos watched her with interest. At first impression, Emily appeared soft and insecure. Methos had believed it would be a bit difficult to convince Emily that her life could no longer be what it had been before today. Short of tying her to a chair, while he pressed a gun to his chest, he'd been low on persuasive ideas. His opinion of her had begun to change as he stood in the doorway of her bathroom. He saw her strong will, whitty sarcasm and realized her had his work cut out for him.

"_Joe had better find McLoed and soon. I am not cut out for this mentor shit,_" he thought to himself. He turned as Emily began splashing water on her face. He walked to the small kitchen sink and studied the dish drainer atop the counter. He pulled a chef's knife from the dried silverware cage and returned to the small table. He waited patiently for Emily to emerge from the bathroom.

Emily ran cool water to fill her sink basin. She stared at her complexion in the small medicine cabinet's mirror. The eyes that stared back at her were bright and clear with no sign of blood shot. Her skin appeared smooth and healthy. She cupped her hands, scooped up water and splashed her face, repeatedly. Satisfied, she dried her face and decided that food was now her main objective. She left the bathroom and stopped in her tracks when she saw that the irritating storyteller was still in her apartment. She stood tall and faced him with confidence, "I feel much better so you need not stay any longer."

She noticed a regrettable look in his eyes and felt the sharp tingle of cold fear run up her spine. Emily froze in a half turn when she spotted the sharp, stainless steel knife lying two inches from Methos' left hand. Both of Methos' hands were flat on the table and his unreadable eyes were fixed on her unwaveringly.

The short, fine hair at the back of her neck stood as the feeling of liquid ice reached her nerve endings. Her breath came in shallow intake as thoughts of him advancing upon her, with the knife outstretched.

She rose a non-threatening hand as she slowly began to back away from him, "Look, you can have…"

Methos easily lifted the knife and placed the pointed tip to the palm of his left hand. He continued to hold her eyes with his own and saw Emily's eyes widen with horror.

"You're crazy," she frantically whispered. Methos drew the knife across the width of his palm and then put the knife flat on the table's surface. Blood slowly pooled in his palm and the slowly seeped through the cracks of his fingers.

Emily stared in disbelief as the crimpson red rivers slowly coagulated on her table top, just below his outstretched hand. Even before she realized what she was doing, Emily snatched the extra large, white paper towels from the cabinet holder. She rushed to his side and held a torn towel to his separated flesh.

"What is wrong with you?!" She exclaimed in a panic. She inhaled deeply and continued to scold, "You might need stitched. Those knives are sharp."

Methos allowed her to wipe at his bloody hand. He watched her eyes and face. He had known the moment she believed he was going to murder her and the moment that compassion took hold of her. He was convinced that she was going to be a caring and passive immortal. If she became skilled with a sword, she would be able to survive. The only one who would be able to perfect her would be McLeod.

Emily was studying the long cut on his palm, assessing the damage. Methos watched the emotional changes in her facial expressions go from empathy pain to puzzlement. Her eye brows frowned dramatically. "I could have sworn this was deeper. It looks like a…" she didn't finish her statement. The bleeding had stopped as the wound healed itself from the inside out. The minute scratch fused and the only marks on his hand was the print lines of his palm.

Emily gasped and frantically searched Methos' hand, turning it over and over. She looked in his eyes as if expecting to find the joke played on her. She shook her head in denial, "It can't be true."

Methos remained emotionless and permitted her to absorb all that she had seen. She sat opposite him at the table, no longer holding his unharmed hand. She studied the bloody paper towel. If she hadn't seen the blood flow freely from his hand, she would still have doubt. There was something inhumanly possible about what had just occurred. He was claiming that she was like him. "_No_…" she thought half-heartedly.

She picked up the knife from the table and immediately knew that it was one of her own Chef's knives. It was no trick knife. Tears threatened to cloud her vision. She chanced a quick glance at Methos and placed her middle finger on the sharp blade. There was very little pain as she ran her finger to the pointed tip. She watched her finger intently for proof that this man was certifiably insane.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"What do you mean you lost him?" Joe Dawson's voice remained strained as he tried to think. He knew from experience that when Duncan McLeod wanted to disappear, he could do just that. Duncan knew as much about the Watchers as the Waters knew about him. If Duncan wished to become invisible and have time alone, he knew how to achieve the feat.

Joe ran his left hand through his salt and pepper hued hair in frustration. "_He could vanish for up to a year, damn it_," he thought to himself. He lowered his voice and spoke into his mobile phone's mouth piece, "Look again, then go back to Headquarters and file your report."

Not waiting for a reply, he pushed the red "end call" button and stared at the T Mobile start screen. He shook his head and frowned. With all the technology that he held in the palm of his hand, he still could not track down McLeod. A pocket PC/Phone combo full of information, but it was not a tracking device.

The phone began to chirp and the screen flashed a message that read, "A. Pierson". The options 'Answer' and 'Ignore' displayed below the name. Not wanting to talk to Methos, Joe pressed 'Ignore' and sent his caller into voice mail.

Joe climbed into his rental car and spared one last glance up at Duncan's apartment windows. He shook his head and began planning the dreaded conversation he was about to have with Methos. A thought occurred to him the moment he turned the ignition, "_Just leave the girl with Methos and quickly go back to Chicago." _Knowing the thought to be futal and Methos could find Joe with just one phone call, he wasn't going to leave Methos in the lurch. He was a friend, afterall.

Duncan stared out across the rolling mist. He was unaware of the time, the date, or even the century. He had surrendered to the images of the past. He held mental conversations with old friends long gone. The strongest voice he heard was that of his past closest friend, Darius. Darius had always given the greatest and wisest hope when all else seemed lost. The priest had been one of a kind.

Duncan held to a belief that Kate was somehow still near him. It wasn't a sensation or aura that he recognized when he received a quickening. It wasn't a lingering memory in his mind that left his heart empty. It was almost as if he could reach forward and expect to touch her or he could dial her phone number and hear her on the other end, asking, 'where are you?'

She wouldn't answer though. He felt inside his black trench coat pocket and pulled out the candy apple colored cell phone. It lay quietly in the palm of his hand; he had turned it off after he recovered her personal effects from the police station. The scene of the horrific accident had been contained and Kate's body had been sent to the hospital morgue.

The last time Duncan had seen her was yesterday morning before she has left for the studio and photo shoot. She was in the kitchen; she had burned the eggs and toast. He loved to tease her lack of culinary skills and he lavishly praised her on the things that she exceeded at. They had spent the last eight months constructing and growing on the bonds of love. He was certain that she had forgiven him the past, that fateful night in their marriage bed. They spoke no more of his deception and moved forward.

One day she had been shopping with one of her models when she came upon an ASPCA Alliance Adoption at the Central Park band shell on the Mall. She arrived home with a three month mixed Rottweiler puppy. He was as beautiful as the pure breed and extremely loving. Kate had named him, Connor, for Duncan's clansman and close friend. She had loved the dog like it was her own child.

Duncan smiled with mixed emotions as he watched the dog bounding and leaping, through the trees, on Duncan's 150 acres of tree covered, rolling hills. He had purchased the land and built a three-bedroom cabin in a secluded valley of Wyoming. No one know about this private retreat, not even Joe.

Sitting on a hillside, Duncan could see trees and morning mist for miles. He whistled once and Connor responded with a playful bark and skidded to a halt, just inches away from his master. Duncan caressed his remaining family member, closed his eyes and returned to his silent conversations with his ghosts.

Methos replaced the cordless phone on its base, "Damn it, Joe." He knew what it meant without even talking to Dawson. Duncan was gone. There was only one thing left to do, he had to take Emily some place safe. He turned around and slowly approached the young, vulnerable woman sitting on an outdated plaid sofa. "When is the last time you've taken a vacation?" He asked.

The only part of Emily that moved was her eyes as they followed Methos from across the room to where he sat only an arm's length away from her. Methos made a quick assessment of her items and figured that they would be able to pack her up and moved within 5 hours. Now, he only had to influence her to agree.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

the first two segments are dreams :)

Chapter 9

…_Applause burst throughout the music hall as every able person stood in excited cheer. With a mixture of delight and confusion, Emily joined the crowd in show of appreciation. She glanced overhead to see a giant, glittering chandelier lighted with faux candles upon what appeared to be five tiers. The ceiling and walls were covered in scarlet red velvet and laced with gold tinsel of meticulous Victorian designs. She was standing in a high viewing box, left of the room's large performance stage and she wasn't alone. She felt a gentle hand on her right elbow and warm lips whisper close to her ear, "I need you…"_

_Emily's body responded, without hesitation, to the deep seductive voice that seemed so familiar. She turned her body toward the powerfully masculine presence behind her. The viewer box in which they occupied was completely vacant and private. Emily felt a rush of warmth flow throughout her midsection and unable to control her own movements, she closed her eyes and burrowed her face within the soft folds of her date's Tuxedo jacket._

_"No," she thought consciously. "This man is much more than just a date. He's my lifeline, my friend, my lover… my husband?" She felt as if she had known him all her life. His smell of light citrus, wild juniper, and white cardamom intoxicated and excited her. Emily wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him as her knees weakened. One strong arm encircled her as the other reached past her and pulled the Viewer Box's velvety red privacy curtain closed. Even with her eyes closed, Emily knew her surroundings and was aware that no one would interrupt them as long as the door remained shut. She felt no fear, only profound love and security._

_Warm soft lips trailed along her bare neck while firm gentle hands caressed her lower back. The thin silk fabric of her emerald gown created a warm friction against her small breasts, as she pressed closer to the extraordinarily muscular man…_

_… Emily's vision blurred and became unsteady. She froze in her movements and listened intently. Her surroundings had changed as well. Burning torches lined cold; dark stonewalls on either side of her. Fear gripped her heart and began to squeeze. "Where am I?" was all she could think. The deep lusty voice she had been listening to had changed. She heard whistling and the sharp sound of metal chains hitting against thick stone._

"_Heeere Kaaatie gurl," came a false beckoning from the direction in front of her. Fear took hold of her senses and the only thing she wanted to do was run. She turned quickly, looking for a means of escape. "You can't leave the town. There is nowhere for you to go. Come back, I promise that you won't have to do those things again. I will make you head girl and you make the rules."_

_"Liar," the word screamed in her head. "Why is he calling me Kate?" she wondered as she tried to run. Her legs were sluggish and she felt as if she were moving through thick mud to her knees. "Oh, God. Why can't I move?" Trying with all her might to reach the light coming from a doorway at the end of the alley, her head suddenly jerked backward painfully. Hot, rancid breath assaulted her nostrils as a large burly man pressed his mouth to her ear and her snarled, "I'll teach you good. You won't ever run from me again when I'm through with ya."_

_Emily fell to the stone alleyway with the weight of the dirty, smelly man on top of her. He pushed her frayed skirt up from behind and held her down with the weight of his own body. Emily could feel the back of his hand against her uncovered buttocks as he reached between them, unfastening his trousers. Emily struggled to the point of exhaustion._

"_Keep movin' just like that gurl. That's how I like it," his laughter echoed down the alley and bounced back from the cold cobblestones. Tears flowed from her eyes as she felt his fat fingers curl around her long, scraggily hair pulling her head back so that she could see into his cruel black eyes. His wide grin showed yellowed crooked teeth. His grunts, as he pushed into her backside, nauseated her and she screamed as the cruel pain from the assault matched the pain in her scalp…_

Methos sat with his elbows on each armrest, head back against the seat, and stared up at the blinking sign, 'Fasten Seat Belt'. He and Emily had left JFK International four hours ago and they still had eight more hours on the plane. The magazines and books that Emily had purchased for them to read on the flight held no interest for Methos. He wished he could pass the time in the manner Emily did: asleep. She had not stirred in two hours and Methos was beginning to feel envious. He never truly enjoyed flying, even though he would not die in a crash. He wasn't comfortable cooped up in one place for so long and unable to move about freely.

He shifted slightly in his uncomfortable seat and watched as a tall red headed flight attendant slowly made her way through the isle with a drink cart. He glanced over at Emily; contemplating whether to wake her or allow her some much needed sleep. In amusement, he shook his head and mumbled, "You fought for the window seat and you haven't lifted the visor once." He continued to study her profile, as she slept, and noticed her right eye twitched slightly. He guessed that she must be in the midst of her REM cycle. "She'll probably wake within the next half hour," he thought to himself.

The attractive flight attendant smiled as she looked into Methos' mischievous hazel eyes and boyish face, "Sir, would you care for a beverage?"

Methos smiled innocently, "Two bottles of water, please." Methos read her name badge, positioned above her curvy left breast. "Thank you, Jeanne," he replied with a smile.

"You're very welcome, Mr. Pierson." The luxury of first class flying was the top quality service and the attendants knew each person's name. Jeanne's warm brown eyes lingered upon Methos long enough to acknowledge that she believed him to be unmarried to the young woman sleeping beside him. Her hungry look announced that she was interested in him and open to any suggestion of companionship.

Under any other circumstance, he would have been happy to oblige her advances. With his current situation as babysitter, he had no opportunity for fun and saw Jeanne turn toward the next passenger on her route. As he sat quietly sipping his water and pondering what the next few weeks could have in store for him, Emily jerked awake, gripping both armrests tightly. With interest, Methos studied her pale face; her sweat drenched brow and frightened eyes. He softly commented, "I'm guessing that was not a pleasure filled dream?" He held the second bottle of water close to her right hand.

Emily inhaled slowly and looked into Methos' eyes with an apologetic half-smile. She released the armrest and reached for the water gratefully. "Thank you," she hoarsely whispered.

Methos fully understood the sight, sound, and smell of a nightmarish dream. He'd lived through thousands of nightmares, many of which he wished he could forget. Unfortunately, his hand had caused hundreds of those nightmares. The violent life of an Immortal could provoke insanity to take over anyone with open arms.

Methos leaned closer to Emily and lowered his voice, "I imagine you must be reliving some of Kate's memories. It happens sometimes, especially if the soul is still awake." He looked deeply into Emily's horror filled eyes, but saw nothing. "If you want to talk about it or have any questions, I'm here." He sympathetically smiled and watched as tears began to fill Emily's pale green eyes. She turned away, lifted the window shade, and remained silent. All she saw was the outline of the plane's wing and blinking lights against the night's black sky. Her watery gaze shifted to her watch, they wouldn't arrive in London for another four and a half hours.

Joe Dawson looked over the final paragraph of the report handed in only thirty minutes earlier. It was only one of the unpleasant few that he had received within the past six days. There seemed to be a renegade Immortal on the warpath. The report Joe held in his hand contained information on the "where", "why", "how", and "by whom" the Immortal had been beheaded. The material would be added to highly confidential computer files that Joe kept on his laptop. Joe sighed and placed the file inside his briefcase, swapping it for the file on Kate MacLeod, then snapped the briefcase closed. He sat down in his black leather desk chair and switched on the laptop.

The small office's florescent lights overhead buzzed softly and flickered slightly in an attempt to finally blow the filament and need replacements. As Joe typed his pass codes and gained access to the classified records, his T-Mobile began to ring. He pushed the speaker phone button and continued to type on the laptop.

"Dawson," he announced.

A nervous voice came over the line and caused Joe's fingers to cease motion, "Mr. Dawson, this is Karen Lopez. I'm assigned to Thomas Stewart. We've lost another one, Stewart is dead."

Joe disabled the speaker and held the phone to his ear, "Did you get a look at the other Immortal?" He listened to the short description and muttered, "Shit. Okay, come in and make your report."

Joe saved his file and closed down the information on Kate. After a moment's hesitation, Joe accessed the 'Missing In Action' log. He scrolled through picture after picture until he came upon the image of an Immortal that had managed to remain hidden for five and a half years.

Joe studied the photo of an amazingly strong Immortal who had hunted down and murdered Duncan's long time mystical friend, Cassandra.

"This is not good," he mumbled as he reached for his phone/pocket PC and began typing out a text message.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The flight had been long and even in First Class accommodations; Emily's muscles ached in unmentionable places. Emily managed to avoid blending into the English crowd. She had never been to England before and she took in the sights of the airport, the empty city streets at 2:00 a.m., and any part of the rolling estates brightly lit in the extended drive to Methos' home. She eventually tilted her head back and rested her eyes.

"Is it true, what you said before, about that man being over 5,000 years old? I can't imagine seeing all the different changes throughout time. It's terrifying to me."

"Yes, it's true. No one knows where he is or if he's even if he's still alive." He shifted his eyes away from her and continued driving. In a sense he was not telling a lie, for no one knew Adam Pierson's true identity except Joe Dawson and Duncan MacLeod.

Emily lowered the back of her seat into a resting position and turned so that she could watch him as he consciously drove along the dark, narrow winding road.

"How do you know so much about him? What makes you so sure he even existed?"

Methos kept his eyes straight ahead, "Lucky for us, informational purposes only mind you, he kept many journals. Writing was invented roughly around 3300 BCE, the earliest dates we have in Methos' journals are 3000 BCE." A wistful expression settled on Methos' face as if in reflection, "It's amazing the things we tend to forget over time. Memories become misty gray and then disappear completely."

Emily yawned, trying to keep her eyes open. Her voice became sleep induced, "How old are you, Adam?"

Pretending not to have heard her, Methos continued, "Did I mention that his writings are full of encounters with famous people in history? I'm sure at the time he had no idea how famous they would be. At one time he had even been an Egyptian Pharaoh…" He chanced a quick glance at Emily and was relieved to see that she had fallen to sleep.

With a sigh, he reached out and switched the car's radio to an easy listening station.

_"Kate, how about this one?" The deep masculine voice floated through a haze, which Emily fought to recognize._

_Emily saw through the eyes of Kate as she had been looking at many photos for an upcoming magazine layout. She looked up and saw Duncan at his laptop. His back was to her as she approached him, placing her hands on each of his shoulders. Peering over his left shoulder she saw what put the laughter in his voice and the twinkle in his eye. He was searching the Internet for chandeliers and had pulled up a picture of a large fixture made with 34 Whitetail dear and American Elk antlers. Candle flame shaped bulbs ringed the two tiers._

_"Oh, you can't be serious. Duncan, that is hideous…"_

_Duncan's smiling face looked up as he reached around and pulled her onto his lap. He nuzzled her neck and playfully tickled her ribs._

_"I think it'd bring the cabin to life. It shows character," came his muffled reply._

_Emily heard herself laugh with Kate's smooth as silk voice, "I don't think so."_

Images faded in and out and back into her unconscious. Everything felt like a dream once more.

_Emily walked along the busy New York sidewalk as she normally did at the end of her workday. She recognized the sights and sounds of the Christmas holiday. A sense of joy spread through her heart, almost seeming to overwhelm her. It had the feel of a heavy burden being lifted and she could relax._

_She ambled along as if there was nowhere in particular she needed to go. Her feet traveled in no set direction and curiosity set in as she found herself in front of an old building that had been remodeled. She decided that there was no need to panic for she felt no danger or anxiety._

_Turning into the large brick building, Emily made her way to a servicing elevator. The lift was noisy and the thick vibrations caused a tickling sensation in her feet and shins._

_Before her mind could play the images in real account, everything appeared to be in fast forward. She didn't actually see her hands unlock the lift door or walk into the large foyer, but she knew in the back of her mind that she had done it._

_The large stylish apartment was something out of a popular decorating magazine. There were large windows that flooded the rooms with natural light during the daylight hours._

_A fully decorated Blue Spruce tree stood near the living room's gas burning fireplace. Two red and green colored stockings hung under the mantle, each one had a name embroidered across the top, "Duncan" and "Kate."_

_Moving her eyes around the room, she spotted a note lying next to a brass bowl, full of mixed holiday nuts, on the Oak coffee table. She read the loving words on the pale piece of paper and immediately forgot what they said. She felt a presence and the prickly vibration given off as another Immortal made his way up the elevator lift. Emily placed the note down with a smile and started for the foyer._

_She faltered as a singsong voice floated through the apartment, "Duunnncan."_

_Emily stood frozen in her spot as her eyes focused on a tall, very attractively curvaceous woman with short black hair. The stranger wore a black low cut gossamer blouse and a very high cut black leather miniskirt. Her claves were covered to the knees with shiny black boots with a medium heel._

_Emily cleared her throat before asking in a cool tone, "Who are you and what are you doing in my home?"_

_The woman in black turned with a start and examined Emily with genuine surprised curiosity. "Oh…I'm looking for Duncan MacLeod. I was under the assumption that this was his residence," came her overly sweet challenge._

_Emily felt slightly irritated and replied with gloating satisfaction, "Yes, this is our house. I'm Kate MacLeod, Duncan's wife."_

_The raven-haired beauty's eyes widened, her mouth moved in silent protest. She recovered quickly, tilted her head slightly and asked with composure, "How did you manage that in such a short time? I was with him just last year."_

_Emily squared her shoulders, crossed her arms and smirked, "We were married in 1712."_

_The woman's right eyebrow arched as she narrowed her eyes, "He never once mentioned you. A topic, such as a wife, would normally come up in pillow talk." The corners of her mouth twitched with pleasure as she silently confirmed that she had also been intimate with the man of the house._

_Emily's eyes burned as they traveled over the unwanted guest. Her eyes froze on an object in the woman's left hand, a lock pick. It answered the question of how she was able to enter the building._

"_Well, Duncan has mentioned you. You must be the thief…Amelia?"_

_An unpleasant smile settled on the other woman's lips, "Amanda," she retorted._

_Emily wasn't sure where the information came from, but she seemed to know about the sexy woman who tried to insinuate that she was Duncan's lover._

"_Yes, well… you must not be a very good thief if you're always getting caught and needing Duncan to save your ass."_

"_You must not be a very good wife since you were absent from his life for so long," came Amanda's biting reply._

_Across the room, the elevator lift clanked and clattered as it opened and the tall, dark, and muscular Duncan MacLeod stepped forth._

"_Sweetheart, I'm home…" He stopped short and shifted his startled gaze from one angry woman to the other, in open-mouthed astonishment._

The sky began to change from a pitch-black hue to a soft midnight blue. The sun would begin to rise within the next few hours. Exhaustion had slowly begun to ease across Methos' shoulders. He had stopped along North bound 'A 140' and purchased a strong cup of coffee. The caffeine helped slightly. Emily had slept through every turn made, every bump in the road, and the loud music that Methos played. The closer they got to their destination, the more his anxiety rose and his backside tingled from numbness.

Methos turned the car off A 140 onto a narrow road and headed East. There were very few vehicles that traveled along this particular dead end road. Methos owned the road and 45 acres that it ran through. It was secluded and heavily populated with hundred-year-old trees. Situated in the center of land was a cleared grove that made way to an old cottage built in 1585. The neighboring village was full of homes dated from the 1500's and 1600's.

Methos slowed the car around a bend, watching as the cottage's clay shingled roofs came out of hiding. Each time the tall trees relent the view of his home, a warm feeling flows through his heart and he almost felt young once more.

Parking just outside the garden wall and faded white Rose trellis archway, Methos turned the ignition key to "Off." He waited for a moment and sensed nothing out of the ordinary. He glanced over at the still form of his new student. "You sure sleep a lot," he murmured while reaching for her shoulder to gently shake her awake.

Emily stiffened and woke with a start, "You Bitch!"

Methos stared at Emily in surprise, "Uh, I don't have the correct package to associate with your colorful and most ladylike greeting."

Emily blinked and smiled slightly, feeling embarrassed. "Sorry, I was dreaming again. She was very charming," Emily concluded with sarcasm.

Methos smiled and opened the car door after pressing the trunk release button. Emily rolled over in her seat to exit her side of the car.

A chill from the early hours of morning caused goose bumps to rise on her arms. She quickly made her way around the car to pull her sweater from the small trunk. She glanced at the horizon curiously, "Oh my God! What time is it? You must have driven for over three hours. Aren't you tired? Wow, where are we?"

Methos held one of her suitcases out for her to carry as he gathered the remaining two bags. He started for the walkway and heard her following close behind. "We are outside a small village near Norwich. Welcome to my humble abode. And yes, I am tired. So, as soon as I show you to your room, I am going to disappear for about a week." He stifled a yawn and laughed at his own joke.

Emily tried not to stumble as she made her way down the darkened path of cobblestones that led to the house's side entrance. It was still much too early in the morning for adequate lighting and there didn't seem to be any electric poles close by to chase away the large gloomy shadows of the yard.


End file.
